


Pass the Piquette

by cloudnoir



Series: The Art of the Escape [4]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:55:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29550324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudnoir/pseuds/cloudnoir
Summary: Aramis and Athos pass an evening drinking. Porthos was only trying to help?
Series: The Art of the Escape [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1962307
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Pass the Piquette

⚜⚜⚜⚜

“Are you certain you would not prefer my input on the matter?” Athos drawled across the candlelit table. Remnants from their dinner were cleared hours ago and now only the debris of their alcohol consumption remained between them.

Aramis took another long drink and paused to swirl the liquid in contemplation – of Athos’ offer or the taste was undeterminable – before he used his right hand to signal for another bottle. “Oh come, it’s not that bad. You must admit that it grows rather more pleasant with each glass.”

“The company or the drink? Either would be more pleasant were it indeed wine, Aramis.”

“It is wine.” Aramis assured. “Of a more lightened flavor, no?”

Athos glared at him and poured the remainder of the bottle into his own cup despite complaints against its taste.

“It suits well enough in summer.” Aramis shrugged and peeked under the table as he knocked the corner on accident.

“It is not summer.”

Aramis shifted in his chair marginally and raised a brow at his companion. “You might try asking our proprietor if he will send us a different variety, for our lovely maid will not supply I fear.” He eyed the lady in question’s back as she moved to secure another of the bottles Athos was maligning.

“Robert is the one who instructed her to begin bringing those.” Athos eyed the empties archly. “Hours ago, now.”

“We have been here since supper.” Aramis smiled at him and ducked his gaze to eye where he’d accidentally kicked at Athos’ right boot with his own left one. “Perhaps he thinks you’ve had enough.”

“There is not enough wine for this.” Athos gestured lazily with his cup across the table.

Aramis kicked him again – _on accident_ – in his haste to pull himself straight in his own chair. “My dearest friend, you wound me deeply.”

Athos did not offer any apology as he watched Aramis clutch at his breast and then grip his doublet’s fastenings with his right hand after a dramatic fashion. “It is past midnight, Aramis, we have been here for hours.” 

“How is this different from any number of your other evenings you've whiled away in a tavern with a bottle or several?” There’s a pause before Aramis beams at him and resumes shuffling his boots under the table.

“Other evenings,” Athos says stiffly, “my company is kept with finer wine.”

“I shall let such a slight pass,” Aramis tilted his head, dark eyes catching glints of the candlelight. He leaned in conspiratorially as he slipped his right hand beneath the table. “There are many in Paris, France even, that would blissfully pass so many hours in my company.”

“It has been over six.” Athos offered airily.

“More, in fact. Again, many have spent more than that with me and quite happily. In vino, veritas, is it?” Aramis smirked at him.

“Any truth garnered from this would be as watered down as the piquette itself.” Athos assured him.

Eloise slipped from the sweep of Aramis’ right arm as he attempted to take hold of her hand in gratitude for the newly delivered bottle. Athos decided against asking her to overturn the odd ban on wine to their table.

Aramis had just accepted it from the moment they began receiving the watered down liquid in place of wine shortly after supper. “Sometimes it is best suited to our purposes to only indulge a little?”

“Not so for Eloise.”

“No.” Aramis’ little moue only prompted Athos to poke at his ankle with the toe of his own boot. “Clearly the blame there lies with Porthos.”

“Clearly.”

“This was his idea, Athos, not mine. Still, she might have been amenable,” Aramis stroked at his beard and gazed sideways at the ‘Grecian figure in linen’ – as he’d recalled her to them before – moving around the tables. “Had I been able to _slip away_ earlier.”

“More the pity for us both.” Athos watched her move off to assist the call of several patrons drinking what he knew to be full bodied wine. 

“In truth, Athos, I am pained that you keep expressing regret over my company.”

“Perhaps both hands, again?” Although Athos had long given up hope that Aramis would accomplish it with both any better than he’d done hours ago when he tried, and it had not gotten better when he fiddled with just the one had.

Aramis took the suggestion and worked both hands under the table.

Athos reached for their newest bottle. “Given how _lengthy_ our time here has been we should be grateful he’s still serving us at all.”

“Damn this.” In mere moments Aramis had both hands clasped round his cup and dropped his forehead to them. “Maybe we should just break the table?”

“Then Robert will never serve us wine again,” Athos liked the food here, and the wine _when it was served to them_ and would not break furniture outside of a necessary brawl with the Red Guard. There was also little desire on his part to pay restitution for damages. He fixed a glare on Aramis. “No.”

“We could separate the legs?” Aramis splayed both his arms miming his proposal. “We’ll slip our own out and then put the pieces of back together.” He jostled the wooden tabletop. “It wobbles anyway. We would be doing Robert a service.” Aramis sat back again pleased with his solution and eyed Athos with a half-plea and half-tease to his gaze. “Except that would technically circumvent the rules, if we even admit there are rules to this.”

Knowing such a look was the precursor to rescuing his friend from window ledges or ill-plotted escape routes, Athos knew he needed to assist. “That still leaves us the problem of being secured to _each other.”_ Aramis’ hours of patience with this would likely end in broken table legs or broken bones – likely his own at this rate – and neither was acceptable. “You are certain you would not prefer that I make an attempt?”

“Your accuracy is not improved with inebriation.”

“My ability at this still surpasses yours.”

“Unfair.”

“In. Vino. Veritas.”

“Porthos stipulated that I was to do this.”

“And neither of you would ever cheat at a bet.”

“Not with this!”

“He will understand.”

“Neither his aim nor his judgment suffers from drink: they improve.”

“A marvel, to be sure.”

“I’ve not known if his wins and losses at cards are impacted by drink, I wonder if there’s a correlation.”

“Aramis.”

“Still, we mustn’t cheat. Although…”

“Aramis.”

“True. He wouldn’t have to know, would he?”

“Aramis.”

“No. You’re right. He’s probably paid Robert or Eloise to observe and report back.” Aramis swung his eyes to the far end of the room and began a slow inventory of the other patrons. “For all we know, he’s enlisted others here to monitor our progress.”

“Aramis!”

“Hmm?”

Athos’ eyes rolled upwards to a point above Aramis’ head at the same time Aramis sensed a presence hovering over him. He dropped his hands to his lap and his shoulders sunk. “He’s behind me?”

“Still at it, then?” Porthos dropped a heavy palm to each of Aramis’ shoulders.

Aramis winked across to Athos who could only drop his temple to lean on his hand.

Aramis, meanwhile, dropped his head back to look at Porthos from upside down, his dark curls pushing into Porthos’ doublet. “Fine company. Scintillating discussion. You know how it is, Porthos. We got distracted from the task you set us.”

With one arm bent up to support his head, Athos refilled his glass. A thought occurred to him that Porthos might be able to sway Robert to reinstitute wine delivery to their table. “Made all the longer by this.” He grabbed at the open bottle and shook it towards their newly arrived brother.

“Wine not to your liking?” Porthos asked. He gripped Aramis shoulders and pushed at him in warning to raise his head as he moved to sit. He grabbed a chair from the nearest table and sat reversed on it; he folded his arms and leaned in so he could gaze between them both over their collection of empty bottles at the end of the table.

“Hardly. Robert has merely seen fit to look out for our well-being, _unknowingly_ , assisting us,” Aramis’ expression dared Porthos to contradict or confirm Robert’s innocence in this matter. “After all, gentlemen, ‘wine is a mocker, strong drink a brawler, and whoever is led astray by it is not wise.’”

“Did he? ‘Cept it doesn’t look like you’ve made much progress.” Porthos sat back and eyed their ankles still wrapped in chain crisscrossed through the table support. “But at least you remember your verses and such, so I guess whatever he’s serving ain’t too inebriating.”

“If you are impressed with Aramis’ recollection of proverbs, then let me remind you both that you give strong drink to those to ‘forget their poverty and remember their misery no more.’”

“Poverty and misery? C’mon lads, it’s hardly all that. A lovely tavern, good company, I thought supper was delicious…but if it’s stronger wine you want, I’ll go ask Robert.”

Aramis shook his ankle, kicking the table in frustration before he was tempted to go after Athos’ leg. “You might have warned me he’d come back!”

Athos rolled his head without moving it from its perch on his hand. “I tried. Several times. I suppose we’ll just have to let him release us.”

“I nearly had it on that last one.” Aramis began reaching again for the lock near his chair arm. Porthos had graciously wound the chains binding both their ankles so the mechanism was closer to Aramis than Athos.

“Nearly is not near enough. Now let us enjoy some wine that is not ‘nearly’ wine and be done with this.”

“I nearly did have it, had you not shifted your leg…”

“Oh? Remind me which time that was in the last _seven_ hours.” Athos cut him off and watched Porthos’ approach; his eyes were drawn to the darker bottle like an owl watching a field mouse.

“Been over nine now.” Porthos said. He placed the bottle down and slid it towards Athos. His other hand was clenched in a fist.

Athos didn’t bother pouring the wine, _and it was wine_ , he titled the entire bottle and took a long drink. “Just get us out of this.”

“I can do it.” Aramis had ignored the bottle’s acquisition in favor of returning to his work beneath the table. “I almost have it.” He bit at his lip and nodded rapidly at Athos and Porthos.

“How many times has ‘e almost ‘had it’ tonight?”

“I have not counted, but I have _had it_ with all of this. Just undo them, Porthos.” Athos sunk deeper into his chair, sliding it back and extending his leg to expose the binding to their friend. He took another deep drink and eyed their brother as he stood.

Aramis looked at Porthos as well when he rose, presumably to free them, “I really did almost have it.”

Porthos smiled at his protest and raised his closed hand as he leaned to his left to observe the lack of progress on Aramis’ side of the table.

“This is wonderful, how did you convince Robert to give you the wine instead of that watered down concoction?” Athos asked.

“I told him he didn’t need to anymore when I asked him for the key.”

“The key?” Aramis peered at him, “Robert had the key this whole time?”

“Yeah, I gave it to him when I told him to serve you the piquette after supper.” Porthos uncurled his had to reveal the key. “Now, let’s sort you out.”

Aramis and Athos’ eyes flashed unaided by the candlelight and it was only Porthos’ quick reflexes that spared him.

Athos was quite satisfied to pay the restitution for the table and broken bottles.

⚜⚜⚜⚜


End file.
